


A Look at Recovery

by SnowSlayer



Category: Samurai Jack (Cartoon)
Genre: Implied Violence, Implied/Referenced Abuse, M/M, minor injury
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-16
Updated: 2020-11-16
Packaged: 2021-03-09 23:02:12
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,222
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27583781
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SnowSlayer/pseuds/SnowSlayer
Summary: Francis reflects on how his creator used to tend to his wounds as he allows Scaramouche to help tend to a bounty hunting injury.
Relationships: franmouche





	A Look at Recovery

**Author's Note:**

> Special thanks to SalaciousShipping and SapphireSins for allowing me to borrow Francis and their Franmouche ideas! You can find more information about Salacious Shipping's artwork here (https://twitter.com/salaciousships?lang=en).

His hand shook as he rang the buzzer. The urge to run and hide nearly overtook him as he was permitted in. Cradling his damaged left hand against his chest, he pressed on to the door at the top floor.

It was a mistake. He knew that the moment he decided to come here. Before he had never had the chance. Now that he did, he was only doomed to do the wrong thing.

“I’m sorry,” he murmured, tensing as a hand was placed on his shoulder. _He was yanked inside without a word and he knew the proper punishment was already being considered._

“It’s alright, babe,” Scaramouche smiled down at him, gesturing him in. “You can pay a house call any time, injured or not.” The gentle hand guided him towards the dining room table.

_The cold eyes stared down at him as he was forced into an uncomfortable chair._ Francis clutched his hand tight to his chest again. He did not want to show how bad it was. _The eyes silently demanded_.

“Let me see, babe,” Scaramouche insisted, offering a hand. Francis conceded. _He had no choice_. He offered the injured hand and bit at his lip. _His hand was snatched, glanced at, worsened. He was silent as the damage increased, already frayed wires snapped. It was his stupidity and he could not heal before it was made worse. Did not deserve to heal without adequate pain_.

“I’ve got tools to help, babe,” Scaramouche assured him as he delicately turned the damaged hand in his fingertips. He eased his hands away as he moved to get the medical kit. Scaramouche pulled up a chair next to Francis, pressing a quick kiss to the top of his head.

“May I, babe?” Francis nodded. _The work was rough and painful_. The fingers moved so carefully. Wires were mended and put back in position. At the worst section, Francis whimpered.

He recoiled. _The slap and scold would come shortly as the thumbs pressed painfully on his wrist in irritation._

“Sorry, babe.” Francis blinked.

“What?”

“For hurting you. I’m trying to be gentle, babe.” A reassuring smile was flashed at him. “Do you need to take a break?”

“Non … I … I’m sorry.” Scaramouche tilted his head with a frown. “I … for bothering you.” _The work was resumed as if he had never made a noise, even as his jaw and wrist stung horribly_.

“You’re not, babe,” Scaramouche kissed his forehead. “You’re always welcome!” He hummed quietly as he worked and Francis kept his head low.

“How’s it feeling, babe?” Scaramouche’s fingers traced over the mended area to make sure everything was smoothed out once he finished working.

“Better.” _His hand was thrust back at him, repaired enough to work. It would ache for days without the needed rest. He would still have to work._ He rotated it, holding in the grimace.

“You know, babe, you don’t have to prove yourself to me,” Scaramouche said knowingly as he packed up the kit. It was true. Francis had tried to take on a bounty of a higher rank than he should have. “I know you’re a damn good fighter. Not that I don’t mind your company, but like I said: you can come over uninjured, too. I’ll love you the same.”

Francis opened his mouth to speak. _He was not supposed to_. There was no other option than to turn away from the concerned look.

“Everything alright, babe?”

“You’re very kind,” he murmured to the floor. Scaramouche sat back in the chair and wrapped an arm loosely around his shoulders.

“Because I love you, babe.” _‘It’s because I love you, my little flower,’ and he was stripped and redressed for the next brutal client before being left alone in the room. He would have to hope he could protect his damaged hand, although it was doubtful._ A lingering kiss was pressed to his temple when he did not answer. Scaramouche gave his shoulders a tight squeeze before standing back up to fix Francis something to eat.

Francis picked at the high-quality food slowly. It was not as hard to process as when Scaramouche first started insisting that he eat better. His appetite had merely deserted him since he had decided to pay the assassin a visit.

“Will I get the pleasure of your company for the next few days as the circuits repair, babe?” Scaramouche beamed as he sat across from him. “Or do you have somewhere you’re heading?”

“If it’s no trouble, I can stay. I have nowhere else I need to be.”

“It’s no trouble at all! I can take off a few more days before I need to return to work, babe!” _‘You’ve wasted too much of my time tonight.’ His spirits sank as he swallowed down the oil in his throat as he tried to ask for his injury to be looked at again after the last client of the night had grabbed his wrists and pinned him down._ He shook his head to clear his thoughts. The look on Scaramouche’s face finally forced him to speak again.

“He always said he loved me, but then why does it feel so different?”

“Maybe he didn’t really mean it, babe,” Scaramouche stated carefully, reaching across the table. Francis took the offered hand with his uninjured one and gave it a firm squeeze. “Perhaps he just loved what you could _do_ for him.”

“And I can’t do much for you.” Scaramouche sighed before letting out a strained chuckle.

“That’s not what I meant. _I_ love you for _you,_ babe!” he insisted brightly as he came over to Francis’ side and pulled him into a tight hug.

“I know. I’m sorry. I just …” he glanced down at his left hand again. “I feel very broken and useless tonight. I suppose I just need to rest.”

“Bedtime, babe?” Francis nodded, letting out a shocked gasp as Scaramouche scooped him out of the chair and began carrying him down the hall to the bedrooms.

“Can’t let you overexert yourself, now, can I, babe?” he teased, risking a quick kiss to the tip of Francis’ nose.

“But your foot!”

“It’s good enough that I was considering returning to work. I probably could, but I can’t say no to getting to spend a couple of lazy days with you, baby. You spending the night in my bed or –”

“Of course! Why wouldn’t I?”

“Hey, some bots just like to recover in their own space, babe!” Scaramouche protested. “I like to be coddled and cuddled when I’m under the weather myself, but to each his own.”

“I think I’d like that, too. The cuddling part, that is.”

“You’re too independent for the other part, hm? That’s alright, babe. I can arrange for cuddling!” He pulled the sheets back and tucked Francis in before stripping off his jacket and joining him. Careful not to touch Francis’ injured hand or jolt it, he pulled the smaller bot against him.

“You’re too good to me,” Francis murmured into his shoulder as he settled into the embrace.

“I know you’d do the same for me, babe.”

“Of course.” He tilted his head up so he could kiss at the underside of Scaramouche’s jaw. “I love you.” The hug was warm and he closed his eyes to enjoy the embrace.

“I love you, too, babe.”


End file.
